José Antonio Rodríguez held a bouquet of flowers in his trembling hands.
He had spent almost a quarter of a century since he had left his family behind in Mexico to look for work in California. In all those years, I had not seen his parents once.
They kept the best they could, but the letters took months to cross the border, and his father was never one for telephone calls. The visits were impossible: José was undocumented, and his parents lacked visas to come to the United States
Now, after years of separation, they were about to meet. And Joseph's stomach was in knots.
He had been a 20 -year -old when he left home, skinny and full of ambition. Now he was 44 years old, thicker around the middle, his hair was thinned in his temples.
Would your parents recognize it? Would you recognize them? What would they think of your life?
José had spent weeks preparing for this moment, cleaning his trailer in the inner empire from top to bottom and cleaning the weeds of his patio. He bought new pillows to place in his bed, which would give his parents, taking the sofa.
Finally, the moment was almost here.
Gerardo Villarreal Salazar, 70, on the left, meets his grandson Alejandro Rojas, 17.
Leobardo Arellano, 39, left, and his father, José Manuel Arellano Cardona, 70, gather after 24 years.
The officials in the State of Zacatecas of Mexico had helped their mother and their father request documents that allow Mexican citizens to enter the US for temporary visits as part of a novel program that leads older parents of undocumented workers to the United States. Many others rejected his visa requests, but his were approved.
They had packed their bags to the edge with local sweets and traveled 24 hours by bus along with four other parents of American immigrants. At any time, they would stop at the East Los Angeles Event Hall, where José waited along with other immigrants who had not seen their families in decades.
José, who wore a gray pole and new jeans, thought about all the time. Lonely nights during the Christmas season, when he yearned for his mother's taste. Every time he could have used his father's advice.
His plan had been to stay in the United States for a few years, save some money and return home to begin his life.
But life does not expect. Before realizing, decades had passed and José had built the community and a carpentry career in California.
Juan Mascorro sings to the families gathered.
He sent tens of thousands of dollars to Mexico: to finance improvements in their parents' house, to buy machines for family butcher shop. He sent his contractor Brother Money Money to build a two bedroom house where José hopes to retire someday.
His mother, whom he likes to talk on the phone, kept him informed about all the actions of the city. The construction of a new bridge. Marriages, births, deaths and divorces. The creep of violence as drug cartels brought their wars to Zacatecas.
And then one day, an almost tragedy. José's father, Jovial, strong, always breaking jokes, landed in the hospital with a heart that doctors said he was failing. He languished there six months to the edge of death.
But he lived. And when he left, he declared that he wanted to see his eldest son.
An framed work of art represents the states of California and Zacatecas is a gift for the families that meet.
A complete third of people born in Zacatecas live in migration in the United States is so common that the State has an agency responsible for meeting the needs that Zacatecanos live abroad. He has been helping older Mexicans to obtain visas to visit the family north of the border for years.
The State tried to obtain visas of about 25 people this year. But the United States, now led by a president who has vilified immigrants, approved only six.
José had a childhood friend, Horacio Zapata, who also emigrated to the United States and has not seen his father in 30 years. Horacio's father also requested a visa, but did not make the cut.
Horacio was embedded. A few years ago, his mother died in Mexico. He had spent his life working to help her get her out of poverty, and then never had the opportunity to say goodbye. I often thought about what I would give to share a last hug with her. All. He would give everything.
He and his wife had come with José to offer moral support. He put his arm around his friend, whose voice shook his nerves.
Horacio Zapata, 48, expected his father to come to Los Angeles through the meeting program, but his visa application was denied.
East was normally bustling, full of vendors sold fruits, flowers and tacos. But on this hot August afternoon, when a car stopped outside the event hall to deposit José's parents and other elderly travelers, the streets were disturbingly silent.
Since federal agents had descended to California, stopping the gardeners, day workers and workers of mass car wash, residents in heavy pockets of immigrants like this had been mostly inside.
The thought crossed José's mind: What would happen if immigration agents assaulted the meeting event? But there was no way to miss it.
Suddenly, the director of the Federation of Associations of the hometown of Zacatecas. From southern California, who was hosting the meeting, he asked Joseph to get up. Slowly, his parents entered.
Of course they recognized themselves. His first thought: how little they both seemed.
José Antonio Rodríguez and his mother, Juana Contreras Sánchez, clean the tears of their eyes after gathering.
José gathered his mother in a hug. He gave him the flowers. And then he grabbed his father.
This is a miracle, his father whispered. He had asked the Virgin for this.
His father, whose heart condition persists, was fatigued by the long trip. Everyone took a seat. His father lowered his head on the table and sobb. José looked to the ground, sniffing, raising his shirt to clean the tears.
A Mariachi singer played some songs, too strong. Food plates appeared. José and his parents picked him up, mainly in silence.
At the next table, José Manuel Arellano Cardona, 70, addressed his middle -aged son as a lot ofchito – Child.
In the next few days, José and his parents relax in the company of others, they would go shopping, attended the Church. Most of the nights would be awake after midnight talking.
José Antonio Rodríguez holds a bouquet of flowers for his mother and father.
Finally, parents would return to Zacatecas due to the limit of their visas.
But for now, they were together, and eager to see José's house. He took them by the arms as he guided them in the Sun of California.
